


Tongue-tied and Useless

by pocky_slash



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Five Plus One, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-25
Updated: 2011-07-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 18:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Erik and Charles kissed accidentally and one time they did it on purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tongue-tied and Useless

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Magnetic Fields song "I'm Tongue-Tied." For a prompt on [1stclass_kink](http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com/).

**one.**  
Charles has dozens of questions he wants to ask the man he pulled out of the ocean--Erik, Erik Lehnsherr--but he can feel how _tired_ the man is, how long it's been since he's rested properly, so he leaves him alone for as long as he can manage.

"As long as he can manage" turns out to be about thirty-five minutes.

He knocks quietly on the door to the tiny crew cabin that Charles had cheerfully harangued the Coast Guard into giving to his new friend. When there's no answer, he opens the door.

Erik is lying on the small bed, asleep. Charles sighs and tries not to feel disappointed. He spies a notepad and pen on the small shelf, probably the personal effects of whomever was kicked out of the room to make room for Erik. He hopes they won't mind if he takes a sheet to leave a quick note. He scribbles a greeting and a plea for Erik to come find him on the bridge when he awakes, and then leans over to leave it on Erik's pillow.

It's a testament to Erik's reflexes and the time Charles has spent sitting behind a desk that he's on his back on the floor before he even realizes that Erik isn't sleeping. Instead, he's awake, alert, and pressing his forearm against Charles' throat.

"Sorry!" Charles says. "I didn't mean to startle you!"

He can feel Erik's surprise ebb away. He gets up, slowly.

"No, I'm sorry," Erik says. He doesn't explain further, but Charles can guess. Erik extends a hand and Charles accepts, allowing Erik to help him to his feet. He's about to ask if Erik would like to get a cup of coffee in the commissary and discuss all that's happened, when he steps on the pen, thrown from his hand when Erik tackled him. He slides forward, pitches into Erik, and they both fall backwards, onto the bed. They knock foreheads, crush their noses together, and then their lips are touching.

Charles fumbles to get up, ignoring the blush he can feel starting to creep up his neck.

"Dreadfully sorry," he says as Erik gets to his feet, looking bemused. "I was, uh, I was wondering if you were up for a briefing. Agent McTaggart and I would like to explain to you what it is we're planning to do with other people like us."

"I'm not looking to save the world," Erik says. "I have something I need to do. I appreciate the ride, but I don't think I'm the sort of person you're looking for."

"Listen to us, at least?" Charles asks, and Erik hesitates and then shrugs.

"Not like there are many options for entertainment on this thing," he says, and lets Charles lead the way out of the room, their awkward fumble forgotten.

***

 **two.**  
It's not that Erik doesn't trust Hank, it's that he doesn't trust Hank's abilities. The boy clearly has the best of intentions, but it's so easy to see he doesn't know how to connect theory to reality.

So he stays, even after the first breathless moment when Charles puts the helmet on and his eyes go wide. He hovers next to the platform, pacing, denying the way his heart races faster with each second that Charles' fugue continues. He stays, hands clenching into fists, until Hank frowns and says, "I think that's... I think we should stop?"

It's a question and it's obviously directed at Erik. Another reason Erik doesn't trust Hank's abilities--Hank never hesitates to concede to whatever higher authority he perceives is in the room.

"Turn it off," Erik snaps. And Hank does, quickly. The hum of machinery peters off and Charles freezes. As the machine ran, he had been smiling, laughing, even, murmuring under his breath, but now he's stock still, rigid, his eyes wide, his mouth slack.

"Charles?" Raven asks.

He doesn't respond.

"Charles," Erik says. " _Charles._ " Charles is shorter than he is, but on the Cerebro platform, they're of a height. Erik grabs his shoulders, and when that doesn't work, he takes Charles' face between his hands.

"Charles!" he shouts, and Charles jerks forward so fast Erik can't get out of the way. Their lips meet, just for a moment, eyes locked. This close, Erik can see the exact moment the shock turns to fear turns to... something else.

They pull away in unison. Erik drops his hands. He can feel the heat in Charles' cheeks.

"Sorry," they murmur in unison, and the awkward silence afterward drags on.

"Um," Hank says, clearing his throat. "Are you okay, Charles?"

"Yes, yes," Charles says, tearing himself away from Erik and smiling brightly at Hank and Raven. "Just, next time, if there's a way to ease me out a little more slowly?"

Hank nods and says, "What do you think about...." and Erik zones out, leaves them to the inanity of their technical nonsense and ignores the look that Raven gives him as he escapes from the room.

***

 **three.**  
It's loud in the club, and Charles always has a harder time focusing when the external stimuli is so intense. Erik is talking to someone at the bar, slipping him a twenty and asking him something, but Charles can't hear what it is.

They chat amicably for a moment and Charles pretends to listen, looks around the room for the young woman they've come to find.

Erik taps him on the shoulder and says something. It would be so easy to read the question off of Erik's mind, but he promised he wouldn't do that without permission, so instead he says, "I can't hear you, Erik."

Erik leans over and puts his hand on Charles' shoulder, his lips right against Charles' ear. "I said she goes on in twenty minutes." Charles turns to respond, but Erik must have more to say, because he doesn't pull back and before Charles can so much take a breath, his lips are gliding over Erik's. He feels dizzy.

They share a breath. Erik moves his tongue and the tip of it grazes Charles' lower lip. He tightens his grip on the bar to stay upright.

"Sorry," Erik says, taking a step back. He runs a hand through his hair and then slowly leans over again, giving Charles ample time to move his head. "I was going to say we should go get seats."

Charles nods and when Erik leads the way, Charles takes the time to straighten his tie and remember how to breathe and walk and think.

***

 **four.**  
He's lost Shaw. Again. He was so close, _so close_ and if he hadn't been so caught up in Charles Xavier and his _mutant daycare_ , running across the country, trying to talk angry, frightened children into leaving everything they knew behind....

He only barely resists punching the wall. He'd like to pretend it's because he doesn't want to lose control and leave a hole in the metal side of the jet, but he has to admit that his companion's inevitable disapproval has something to do with it as well.

"We'll find Shaw," Charles says, as if reading his mind. He knows he's _not_ , if only because Charles promised and he's the sort of scrupulously honest idiot that would keep such a promise. He wonders if he's projecting his rage that strongly, or if Charles has just been around him long enough to understand his motivations. "We know his plan, now. We know where he'll be and what we'll have to do to stop him." He touches Erik's arm and Erik lets him, used to the gesture of familiarity after only a few weeks.

Erik looks around the plane, glancing at the CIA agents clustered together and talking, meeting the eyes of McTaggart, who's looking over at them with interest. He glares at her and leans over closer to Charles to ensure she can't hear.

"I have plans for Shaw, Charles, and I don't want the CIA--"

The plane shifts sharply and Erik braces himself against the armrest. Charles isn't so lucky. He jerks forward, just enough for their lips to brush.

For the first time in a very long time, all thoughts of Shaw leave Erik's head. Charles has very long eyelashes and very blue eyes, and he can't seem to focus on anything else.

The plane jerks again and Charles pulls back, blushing. He closes his eyes, and the spell is, thankfully, broken.

Erik looks around again. The agents are still muttering amongst themselves. McTaggert, however, is still looking at him. She crosses her arms and raies an eyebrow and Erik stares at her defiantly until she looks away. She's smirking. He can't imagine why.

"Wake me when we get to Virginia," he mutters, and leans his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.

"Of course," Charles says. If his voice sounds strained, Erik merely attributes it to the bumpy ride.

***

 **five.**  
The house seems both larger and smaller than it ever did growing up. There are whole wings going unused at the moment, but the constant laughter and noise makes it feel like the house is full in a way it never felt when he and Raven were children.

He watches Erik training Sean and Alex, who are running about in the yard. He doesn't question Erik's methods--they usually bring results, but he wouldn't even mind if there was no point to the exercise aside from burning off energy. The children were in the CIA facility for only a few weeks, but despite the ample training facilities, they might as well have been prisoners. They clearly enjoy the chance to run and shout and be children without men in suits glaring at them.

He makes his way down the stairs, raising a hand to Erik as he does so. Erik catches his eye and quirks his mouth into his standard not-quite-a-smile.

"Keep it up, boys," he shouts at Sean and Alex, and then crosses the lawn to meet Charles at the bottom of the stairs.

"Is something the matter?" he asks.

"No, no," Charles says. "I was just making my way over to Hank's lab. Raven tells me he has something he wants to show me."

"Wonderful," Erik says. "It's been at least three or four hours since he almost killed someone."

"I wish you wouldn't be so harsh in front of him," Charles says as they cross the grounds towards the building Hank has turned into a lab. "The boy is clearly insecure."

"And he has to learn to have a tougher skin if he's really going to go out into battle," Erik replies. "Your sister, too. If the two of them weren't so obsessed with passing for human--"

"Not being able to pass is what gets people hurt," Charles says. It's an old argument, one they've already had half a dozen times.

"You'd rather they hide who they are?"

"Just until the world becomes more accepting," he insists. "Small steps, my friend." He pulls open the door of the lab. "All I'm saying is--"

"Charles!" Raven's voice shrieks, and then the air is knocked out of Charles. A red burst, similar to the sort Alex generates, goes flying past, but only because Erik has slammed him up against the wall. He can feel the adrenaline making his hands shake. He clings to the back of Erik's shirt, even though the danger has clearly passed. He turns his head, maybe to thank Erik or share a look of wonder, but Erik's face is already turned and their lips press together, in what is becoming an increasingly frequent occurrence.

Charles attributes the knots in his stomach, the weakness in his knees, the tightening of his chest to the adrenaline. Erik pulls away, his eyes dark with something Charles is afraid to identify.

"Thank you," Charles manages to say, though his voice catches on the simple words. Their bodies are still pressed together, even if their lips are not.

"Right," Erik says. "I should go make sure Alex doesn't eviscerate Sean."

"Right," Charles echoes. Erik steps back and stalks out into the yard, already barking orders at the two boys. Charles watches him go. When he turns back, Hank is beet red and muttering apologies. Raven and Moira are watching him with near identical smirks.

"What?" he asks.

"That's the second time you've kissed Erik," Raven says.

"I... what?" Charles asks. "I... haven't a clue--he was just pushing me out of the way."

"Third time," Moira clarifies. "That we know of, at least."

Charles is glad he's already blushing, because if he were to start now, he'd certainly give away that there have been two other kisses. Two other NOT kisses, because he certainly hasn't _kissed_ Erik.

( _Unfortunately,_ a small part of his mind supplies in a huff.)

"Really?" Raven says, turning to Moira.

"On the jet coming back from Russia," she says. "You really should be more careful in front of that many government agents, Charles."

"And the first time he used Cerebro," Raven adds, grinning. "Right, Hank?"

Hank squeaks. Charles crosses his arms.

"Raven, it was--we weren't _kissing_ ," he insists. "It was an accident. They were all accidents."

"Three accidents?" Moira says, raising her eyebrows.

He doesn't correct the number.

"It's okay, Charles," Raven says, skipping across the room and hanging off of his arm. "It's not like I didn't know you liked--"

"And thank you, Raven, for sharing secrets that aren't yours to share!" Charles snaps. Raven drops his arm, looking hurt.

"I work for the CIA, Charles," Moira says, looking unfazed. "What makes you think I didn't already know?"

Charles is too flustered to defend himself further (still flustered from the feeling of Erik's body curled around his own). He embraces the old Shakespearean adage and decides the best course is retreat.

"I'll be up at the mansion sorting the accounts if you need me," he says. "Hank, in the future, please employ better safety precautions and find me when they're in place."

It's harsher than he means to be, but he can't quite think straight. In fact, he doesn't resume normal thinking until he's secure in his study and his breathing has returned to normal, even though he can still feel the warmth of Erik's breath on his lips.

***

 **and.**  
"Olives!" Charles says. He's smiling brightly and holding out the jar like he picked them and sealed them himself. Erik accepts it graciously, unscrewing the top his with powers, just because he can.

"Thanks," he says, and skewers two to drop neatly into his drink. He turns around. Charles is still grinning, obviously happy that his gift was accepted. For someone who had rolled his eyes as Erik began to mix his martini, he'd certainly found them quickly enough.

It's been a long day, an exhausting day. His ears are still ringing from Sean's disastrous attempts to focus his power on single objects and he burned his hand in the aftermath of one of Alex's less-than-successful demonstrations of his own abilities. All his body wants is eight hours straight of sleep, but if he can't have that immediately, a drink and a chess game with Charles is an acceptable alternative.

A dangerous alternative, maybe.

It had happened again today, another mishap had forced them into close quarters, had left Erik feeling more off-center than he will ever admit. He doesn't know what it is about Charles Xavier, who is exceedingly arrogant and exceedingly irritating, yet still somehow manages to inspire a spark of lust sharp enough to distract Erik from his primary goal in all of this mess.

Infuriating. That's Charles Xavier.

"Scotch?" he asks Charles, who is leaning against the bar, still smiling about the fucking olives.

"Mm, but don't bother, I can--"

Charles reaches for the glass and Erik reaches for the Scotch and the items are on opposite ends of the bar, of course, which means he's nose to nose with Charles for the second time in six hours.

Neither of them move. Finally, Charles' tongue wets his lower lip, and Erik swears under his breath. He's always taken what he wants before--he sees no reason to stop now.

His movement must spark movement in Charles, because by the time he's sliding his fingers into Charles' hair, Charles' fingers are already wrapped around his shoulders. Their mouths meet halfway as the glass in Charles' hand shatters on the floor. Erik doesn't care. He kisses Charles, holds his head in place even though he's clearly not going anywhere. The slide of Charles' mouth against his goes straight to his dick, just like it has the last five times this has happened, but this is more, this is _intent_ and he never wanted to get attached to these people, but this is Charles fucking Xavier and his _ideals_ and his _good intentions_ and the way he looks at Erik like he's a good person, the way that Erik sometimes feels like he could be a good person if Charles will just keep looking at him like that and--

Charles makes a sound not unlike a moan and presses Erik into the bar. Something knocks off of it, the second clatter of glass shattering against the floor, but Erik could give a fuck. Charles pulls away and makes that sound again, a sound that Erik immediately decides he likes more than he should, a sound he's determined to encourage as often as he can manage.

"Jesus," Charles pants, fingers skating down Erik's neck and making him shiver. "My god, finally, after the strip club--" He kisses Erik again, sucking on his lower lip and Erik's glad he has the bar to lean on.

"That first day with Cerebro," Erik growls, practically speaking the words into Charles' mouth. "I thought you were dead and then you--" He pulls out Charles' shirt tails and kisses him again, their teeth clacking together, too hasty to get the angle right.

"On the plane," Charles groans. "I--" Erik bites his jaw and he stutters into silence, tipping his head back and giving Erik access to all the lovely pale skin of his throat. There's no couch in this room, but there are arm chairs and Erik's fucked on worse. Just enough to take the edge off, because there are _beds_ upstairs, more of them than Erik can ever imagine a family using in a life time, and they can easily--

"Shit!" Charles says, suddenly, and shoves Erik away. At first he thinks Charles has hurt himself on the smashed glass, but then the door to the study swings open and Raven sticks her head in, worried.

"We heard something break," she says. "Are you--"

The worry twists into surprise and then a smug little grin.

"Oh," she says. "Sorry to interrupt more not-kissing." She and Charles seem to have a conversation consisting entirely of raised eyebrows and glares before she smirks one last time and closes the door.

Charles bangs his head on the bar.

"Sorry," he says when he looks up, unable to make eye contact with Erik. He's staring at the ground, frowning, and Erik follows his gaze. In addition to the tumbler, the jar of olives was a casualty of their lost control. Charles looks almost morose.

"I'll get you more olives," he says, and Erik has to try very hard not to actually laugh at him.

"I'll forgive you the olives in..." He glances at his watch. "Three minutes."

Charles frowns. "Three minutes?" he asks.

"I'm estimating that's how long it will take us to find an empty bedroom with a lock," Erik explains. Charles' expression brightens and then falters.

"The glass... the olives," he says.

"It will keep until tomorrow," Erik says. He resists rubbing his face in frustration. "Two minutes, forty-five seconds."

With one last glance at the smashed glass, Charles squares his shoulders and leads the way out of the study.

They make it upstairs with thirty seconds to spare.


End file.
